Sand
by cullencraver
Summary: The sound of summer vacation never sounded so bitter.  Cast into self-enforced solitude on the warm beaches of Florida, Bella finds herself faced with an irritating vacationer hell-bent on interrupting her misery.
1. These Chapters' Titles

The waves ebbed up the shoreline, creeping dangerously close to my perch in the sand. There was a cool, faint breeze ruffling my hair and catching between my opened zip sweatshirt and bare skin. My bathing suit was still damp from earlier in the day and I could feel the sand grating uncomfortably under me. But none of that mattered, as I sat gazing across the twinkling surf to the remarkable sunset that cast an orange glow all over everything.

To my right, you could see the island wrapping around the cove in the distance and the line of beach houses and rocky walls that were built bordering the natural beaches. To my left, the shoreline curved in the opposite direction, receded, so that the further you looked, the more sea you saw. An oasis.

There was no more chatter or laughter interrupting the natural beauty of the scene; all beach-goers and their families were at dinner, a movie, a show, or a club. Seven PM and the only sound was the constant _vroom_ and hum of cars speeding by on the nearest road. Occasionally the wind would be strong enough to whip the grasses that marked the line between beach and private property. But the rest was silence.

Then, the unexpected, subtle _crunch crunch crunch _of quick footsteps in the sand. I groaned, hoping my seclusion was not about to end. But the sounds grew louder.

I turned my head to look over my left shoulder, resting my chin and cheek on it so as to appear sly and not stare directly at the offender.

I saw a man jogging along the uppermost part of the beach, the noise of his sneaker footsteps slowly becoming more noisy as his trajectory curved perpendicular to his path, now aiming for the ocean.

I watched as he ran within ten feet of me, without acknowledging my existence, and was headed straight for the waves, when I realized he planned to keep going into the surf, sneakers and all.

"Woah, there, Cowboy!" I yelled, but didn't give up my comfortable position, hugging my knees to my chest.

He slightly looked over his shoulder in my direction, but didn't respond, and kept heading for the water.

"Hey!" I yelled, more demandingly, actually standing up.

He finally turned around to face me, but insisted on running in place in the wet sand. The foam from the waves surrounded the soles of his sneakers and each trot of his toes brought up flecks of water to splash against his thighs.

"No swimming, no lifeguard on duty," I called.

He stared at me for a moment longer, shrugged, then turned back to his pursuit and ran into the waves, diving under as soon as it was deep enough. He struck out with a crawl stroke, headed due south.

I groaned again to myself, then picked up a quick jog which lead me into the waves and a swim to match his. I caught up effortlessly; although he was powerful and be-muscled, I could swim better than it most.

"Ayo," I called to him, switched to a back crawl stroke and matching his pace. He didn't say anything, his head under water most of the time save for his breathing.

Getting ticked off now, I sped up slightly and swam directly in his path, forcing him to stop. I tread water before him.

"Do you have a problem?" he asked, sounding offended in a harsh tone.

"Are you thick? Did you not hear me? I said there isn't a lifeguard on duty."

"That's what you interrupted me to say?" He made to move around me but I blocked him.

"If you start to drown I'm not saving your ass," I spit back at him.

"Who's asking you to?"

I pulled at the neckline of my red bathing suit. "The bullshit code of honor I signed saying that on duty or not, I'm bound to save a drowning citizen."

"Well lucky for you, I'm not a resident of this state, so it doesn't apply to me."

"Citizen is used synonymously with 'human being,' in this case, okay jerk-wad? My day's crappy enough that I don't need to deal with your sass."

The fact that we carried on this conversation over 100 yards away from shore, treading deep waters, never occurred once to us.

"Well if you let me swim, then I wouldn't have to talk to you, now would I?"

I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself and not snatch onto the bait he flung in my face.

"Fine," I said the most level tone I could muster. "But if your steroids crap out and you get a cramp, you can sure bet I'll be right there on shore, laughing at you."

"Aw, to think you have nothing better to do." And he swam past me, still headed straight for open water.

I grumbled to myself the entire way I swam back to shore. I grumbled some more and mixed in a couple swears and curses as I sat back in my spot at the shoreline, trying to wring out my sopping wet sweatshirt. No wonder it always smelled like beach, when I was swimming after _assholes _in it.

I sat in the same spot, the cool water moving way past my backside and slowly sinking me into the sand, as the sun set. Soon as the light was no longer visible and the blueness of twilight was beginning to fade to a purple midnight, I saw his figure reappear within sight. Damn bastard didn't even have the courtesy to drown.

I waited another moment as I watched him swim closer, then stood. I tried to stare out over him, at the moon and the stars, grateful to be able to see them and know something natural still existed in this world of industry and pollution, but couldn't deny I kept a watch on him.

When I could finally make out the features on his face, as he was probably only thirty feet out from shore, I turned and left.

As usual, the path to the front door, hidden by palm fronds and overgrown plants in the main garden, was dark. I struggled with the door to force it open and saw a light on distantly in the kitchen.

I dropped my keys on the table near the entrance and found my father dancing around the kitchen, making a drink. He finished it off with a garnish of a cherry and I sat down opposite him, on a barstool at the peninsula. I swiped the drink before he could claim it.

He made a sarcastic angry face, but wordlessly skipped over to the fridge to take out more liquor.

"Wouldn't you have had enough mixing of drinks for one night?" I asked him skeptically.

My father worked in of the many bars in town. It was probably the liveliest and most vibrant on main street, with ten doors instead of walls that were all left open so that it was more of a roof over a slab of concrete than a building with walls.

"The party never stops," was his answer, paired with sickening smile as he even threw an umbrella into his drink, then taking a sip. "What were you up to today?"

"Working, like every day," I said in a grumble. My tone was never upbeat when speaking to my father.

"Huh, still doing that lifeguard thing? Ever think of taking a break from that? Come down to the bar, Bella. You'd like it."

"Really, Dad? People? Not quite my thing, remember? Besides, I'm only nineteen – can't quite drink legally." Paradoxically, I took another gulp from my tumbler.

"Legal, smeagol. You think we card there? Besides, Bernadette was just saying how she hasn't seen you in –"

"I'm going down to the beach," I said, downing the rest of my concoction and leaving the empty glass on the counter.

I stopped in the hall closet to grab a blanket and camping lamp before proceeding out the back door; I could leave it unlocked now that my father was home.

It was quicker to the beach out the back door, the gate at the back of the garden leading straight to a winding sand path which broadened into the dunes.

I walked east of the house, past an outcropping of rocks, before I chose to settle. I liked to pretend there was _some_ distance between me and that infernal commercial bungalow.

I turned on the lamp and spread out the blanket that was big enough for three, but ended up hosting only myself.

This is how I spent most of my summer. Alone.

I was about to sigh again, ready to bask in my solitude and contemplate building a fire to replace the artificial lighting when I heard a rustle of grass and crunching footsteps, this time sandals rather than sneakers.

**AN: Please, LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK! I know they're quite OOC, Charlie especially, but you can't deny I have creative license. I'd really love to know your opinion, because it was a spur-of-the-moment write at 3 AM that took precedent over all my other works-in-progress.**

**Two more chapters to follow, it's a mini!**


	2. Together Make a Haiku

Ignoring the approaching busybody – either one of the older men who hung around my father's bar and liked to happen upon me for a short flirtatious exchange, or an old woman getting her late night dog-walk on – I began to gather a few bits of driftwood that tended to gather along the natural wall of rocks and lit a flame to some fronds that I inserted among the logs.

I watched as the wood teepee lit and noticed the footsteps slowed to a stop beside my blanket.

"Romantic atmosphere?" I heard a voice ask. I turned to see the jerk from earlier. Apparently swimming a marathon didn't put a damper on his attitude.

"You wish," I retorted, ignoring him as I approached my blanket to get comfortable on.

"Mind if I join?" he asked, already starting to bend as if to sit.

"Bah," I exhaled. A rather unattractive noise, but the fact was irrelevant in present company. "_Now_ you want to be friends."

One half of his mouth pulled down at the corner.

"If I prematurely blamed teenage hormones, could you listen long enough to hear a more detailed explanation?"

Despite the eloquence with which he spoke, I couldn't help but belittle his character further at his mention of being a teenager. I didn't want to admit he seemed so _manly, _so I imagined he was merely fifteen years old.

When I didn't speak, he continued. "We're quite alike-" I let out another sound of disbelief and disagreement. He waited for me to explain myself.

"In times when I only desire the company of myself and the nature around me, you find it fit to intrude upon my daily routine to a point of irritation."

"I could argue that you intruded on my daily routine when you stopped my swim."

I gave him an expression that sarcastically said _Really?_

"Never mind, I'd just like pay you some company."

"I didn't ask for any, go away," I said, stoking the fire. He didn't budge. "Don't you have some stupid club to go to or something?"

He shook his head. "I'm not 21, I can't drink."

No shit. "Some place like Vibe or Beatz, have some horny 16 year old grind up on you."

He chuckled. "Are those eighteen and under? I don't think they're going to let in a nineteen year old."

I squinted at him. "If you're too old for one of those teen mosh pits then why blame hormones for your inflated ego?"

"I like to harp on and emphasize the fact that I'm still in teen-hood. In several months, I'll turn twenty, and never again be able to refer to myself as anything but an adult. Why would I ever want to rush growing up when I'm this close to it? I'd rather slow down this summer to last a lifetime, as long as it meant I were still a kid."

I almost admired the way he put it; I felt very similar. "You see, that's where we're different," I said to him anyway.

He seemed to get comfortable, as if amusing himself with how I readily disagreed with him, knowing I was half-lying to him.

"I can't endure this summer lasting longer than it should, and the sooner it ends, the better."

"Then why suffocate yourself in solitude and silence? Surely it'd pass quicker out on the town?"

"Yeah, like I'd step foot onto Main Street after seven, be pulled in to my father's bar and forced to joke around with all the old hermits and retirees for five hours? I think I'll pass."

"So your dad owns a bar? Which one?" He sounded eagerly interested, also grabbing onto the change in topic.

I rolled my eyes. "He doesn't actually own it, he's tended bar there for over a decade, so he's pretty damn tied to the place. Couldn't give a rats ass if I was off building a fire past midnight."

"So he doesn't care for you? He's negligent?" he asked. His tone suddenly took on a tone of a therapists.

"What are you, now, a shrink?" I asked.

He chuckled softly. "I'm studying psychology at school, yes. But mostly, I'm just curious. I'm trying to figure you out."

I tried not to roll my eyes again, and failed. "Great, just what I need." I sighed, because I knew he was waiting for my answer. "No, my father's ecstatic I'm here for the summer. Couldn't be jollier. But that's all the damned man is. All care-free and laughs. I think he'd sleep at the bar if he could, he's such a socialite. Maybe that's why he married my mom." I started thinking aloud, forgetting I was even talking to anyone.

"Does she love the bar, as well?" he asked.

I shook my head. "She lives up north, all the way over in Washington state. They divorced before I could talk."

"Do you see her often?"

"Oh yeah, I live with her. Grew up there, went to high school there, got the hell out of there come college. It was unbearable. Now that I'm home with no distractions for four months, I figured it'd be easier to subject myself to unquestionable solitude here."

"Why don't you like it there?"

It didn't even annoy me anymore that he kept asking questions. Normally, I'd clam up and demand why he was being so nosy, what made him give a rats ass. But now I spoke from my heart, didn't even have to mix up lies.

"She's worse than my dad. If they had a show 'Middle-Class Housewives of Seattle,' she'd be on it in a heartbeat. Her life's all galas and dinners and gossip clubs. Worst of all, she tries to pull me down in it, seeing me as the rebellious, angsty teen that she needs to set straight. After her third attempt at trying to set me up at a 'social' with 'distinguished' people my age, every school I applied to had to be over ten hours away.

"I wasn't even invited home for Thanksgiving because she was having the Waldorfs or the Newlins or whoeverthefuck over and didn't want me to – what were her words? – 'put a damper on the debonair effect' she was channeling. Basically: no jeans and scowls in a room of gowns, jewels, and false twitters." I scowled at the image.

My companion didn't say anything for a while, taking it all in. We sat in a comfortable, thoughtful silence. Thoughtful for me as I reflected back on my mother's socialite life, thoughtful for him … god knows why.

"Well, what about you?" I asked finally. "Training for the Tour de France, huh?"

"The Tour de France is on bicycles, Miss Swan," he informed me matter-of-factly. I twitched over his accuracy, though.

"How'd you know my name?" I asked, suddenly untrusting. Was he a stalker?

He laughed at my reluctance. "Says it there," he said simply, pointing at the piece of tape affixed to my camping light.

"Huh," I exhaled, examining the evidence.

"So do you have a first name that goes with that, or does it simply live up to your expertise in the water?"

I couldn't tell if he was complimenting me or teasing me. Was it flirting?

"It's Isabella. Bella."

"Bella, it's nice to meet you," he said formally, holding out his hand. The fire cracked and sparked behind his hand's silhouette as I contemplated it.

I decided to take it. We shook.

"And do you have one? Or do I have the pleasure of christening you with Jerk-Wad for now on?"

"Ahh, I'd prefer something more sophisticated, like Mr. Jerk-Wad," he replied. I couldn't stifle my laugh completely and he smiled. "It's Edward, Edward Cullen."

I nodded. "So what brings you into solitude, Edward Edward Cullen?"

He rolled his eyes at my brazen comment. "Well, Isabella Bella –" I had to hide a smile, what was wrong with me? "I, too, don't wish to socialize with most around me, and choose to go about my day solo as well."

"No, no, you're not getting away with that. I poured my heart out – the least you could do is reciprocate." I found myself half-smiling with my words, like I was actually joking around with him. When was the last time I had contact like this with another human being?

Sure, at school, I was social. I had friends. We went out, we partied, we laughed. But none of those interactions seemed as sincere and easy as this.

He shrugged. "There _isn't_ a problem – that's the problem."

"Huh?" I couldn't help my let my bluntness shine through.

"My parents, they're – they're so damn accepting." He laughed, as if he didn't usually curse. Hell, it wasn't even a curse, but it was the dirtiest word I heard him use yet. "They gush with happiness and support over everything I do. I spent all of junior year working up the courage to tell my dad that I didn't want to go to college for medicine, and when I finally told him his answer was, 'Okay.' That's it! _Okay_. After I got all worked up over it." He shook his head, thinking about the event.

"Then, when I got into my top choice, I went. No question about the bill. They said as long as it was where I wanted to go, I was there. To top it off, I added a minor which meant more classes, more credits, more money. They hardly blinked an eye at it."

"I guess I can see how that's annoying," I said thoughtfully, trying to imagine the picture. I'd worked rigorously throughout high school so that when I finally went to college, the one I wanted would give me ridiculous amount of money. I had only miniscule loans to my name, something I was proud of.

"It's _maddening!_" he said, pretending to claw at his face.

I laughed at him. "Trade any day: one parent glad to have you out of her fabulously-styled hair, the other thinking god-knows-what – probably that you're off on some self-righteous, life-changing adventure or another with friends and a guitar and weed."

"Well, I'm here, and I don't have a guitar, so …. I'm kidding, no weed!"

"Damn, and to think I was starting to believe we really were alike."

He didn't know if I was kidding or not.

The fire crackled again as another comfortable silence set in and I leaned back on my elbows on the blanket, staring over the flames to the dark waters, sighing at the peace of the moment.

**AN: Please, let me know what you think! Review! CC **


	3. Please Read and Review!

We shared mostly anecdotes of frustration related to our family, occasionally stoking the fire.

"So where do you go to school, then?" he asked me, right after I relived my mother's attempt to move me out of my dorm freshman year, sundress, heels, overlarge hat and all.

"That was the Shoeboxes, at Clemson."

"South Carolina, right? You're all over the place – Washington, Florida, then South Carolina."

"That was my first two years. Next semester I start up over at Dartmouth." I spoke rather uncertainly. No matter how strong my personality was, I couldn't deny I had doubts and fears about starting new again. "Woop, Big Green," I cheered half-heartedly, with a mock fist-pump.

"Seriously?" Edward asked, incredulous.

I scoffed. "What, don't think I'm ivy league material?"

He shook his head. "No, no, I didn't meant to offend, I-"

"Pssh, Edward, you're as accommodating as your parents sound. I don't think you know how to offend."

He made a face at my comment, but ignored it. "No, what I meant, it's just that – _I _go to Dartmouth, Bella."

I stare at him, eyes slightly popping. "You're pulling my leg."

He laughed. "No, I swear. Cross my heart and all that."

"That's half-assed," I accused him.

He rolled his eyes. "Cross my heart and hope to die, stick a needle in my eye," he chanted, making the motions.

"Better," I confirmed. I hugged my knees and rested my cheek atop them, gazing at Edward as he looked pensively towards the black horizon.

"So it's really true?" I asked after a moment.

"Hmm? Dartmouth? Yes, start my third year there this fall."

"Mmm," I hummed, lapsing into thought.

He seemed to break out of his reverie and in my peripherals I saw he suddenly held himself with a different demeanor.

"Hey, Bella," he said thoughtfully, suddenly sitting up, leaning in – closer to me.

"Late night swim?" I half shouted, suddenly standing up and kicking off my flops.

I thrashed in the sand around the edge of the fire.

"Bella, wait-" he called, but groaned and gave up. I heard a rustle and assumed he stood to join.

"Bella, you're still wearing your sweatshirt," he protested, his voice was far.

I shrugged. "It's been wet all day," I called back, not turning around. I walked quickly to the sea and stopped right before the line where the water soaked into the sand.

"Bella," he called again in what sounded like a struggle.

I briefly glanced over my shoulder to see him working to flick his flops back at the blanket and hurriedly attempting to dislodge himself from his crisp button-down shirt.

"Bella, wait – urgh. No, really, you'll get your sweatshirt sopping wet."

I grunted and tore my sweatshirt off, struggling slightly due to my rapid and furious movements. I chucked it into the sand next to me.

"There, happy?" I yelled at him as he started to walk closer, still struggling with his shirt.

"I didn't mean – you – _ow_," he must have stepped on a dried reed or shell, for he hopped onto one foot and grabbed the other in pain.

I took a deep breath. What I was deny and rejecting to feel, what I was ignoring and walking away from, was suddenly welling up in me as I watched the fool hop back and forth, massaging his foot.

"Well, we don't want it to get wet, do we?" I called in an almost dream-like trance.

"No," he replied, preoccupied with his cut, still thinking we were talking about the sweatshirt.

"Well then," I said aloud, but not quite well enough for him to hear me.

I raised my hand lazily and knocked off the left side strap of my bathing suit, then draped it across my collar bone to the right side and repeated the action. Edward was still fretting over the sand and fumbling with his shirt that the show I put on was really for my own benefit.

I then slid the suit slowly down my chest to gather at my waist. I inserted my thumbs between my skin and the nylon, tugging it wider, so that I could slip it past my hips.

Just as I ducked my head to focus on pulling the suit down, past my thighs to my ankles, I caught a glimpse of Edward looking up, probably see to if I complied to taking off my sweatshirt.

When the suit reached my ankles, I stepped out one foot at a time, then lazily dropped the wet material on top of my damp sweatshirt. I subconsciously popped a hip out while doing so, so that when my hand was empty, like my body, I looked up to my company in a very coquettish way.

I stood there, naked, the water immediately behind me, with my arm half-raised and my knees bent, one over the other, the exact image of a pin-up girl.

He stared at me with wide eyes and an open mouth. Despite his attempt at a romantic advance before I chickened out and jumped up to go "swimming," I doubt he had pictured the even turning into anything but this.

"Come on, then," I called innocently, before I turned and walked straight into the sea.

I heard a, "Bell-_uh!_" called after me as I took a first stroke into the icy water.

I basked briefly in the absolute silence of the beach. I'd gone swimming past midnight before, but this was the most serene it ever felt. After a minute of floating lazily in the water, I swam back to shore and simply walked out of the surf, as nude as ever.

I sympathetically approached Edward, who stood at water's edge, fruitlessly struggling with that damned shirt of his.

I smiled sadly at his poor attempts, then replaced his hands with mine as I undid the last button effortlessly. I raised my hands to grab the top of his shirt on each side, and pushed it back over his shoulders, off his arms, after which I glided my hands back up his toned muscles and across his chest.

He remained in a stunned silence.

Smiling to myself, I then lowered my right hand to grab hold of the top hem of his shorts, and I heard a sharp inhale as my knuckle grazed soft skin.

I flicked the button undone in one swift move, and placed both my hands on each of his hips, from which I inserted them between his boxers and skin, sliding his bottoms down and feeling his thighs greedily the whole way.

I didn't let his pants fall – I followed them the whole way down, so that I brought them straight to his ankles, and landed on my knees, facing him.

**The End!**

**Please review! CC**


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